


What Sort of Day Has It Been?

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Moresomes, PG-13 - Blue Cortina, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-07
Updated: 2008-04-07
Packaged: 2019-01-20 19:11:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12439731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: "They are alive and the world turns and it's enough."





	What Sort of Day Has It Been?

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Many thanks to my betas: dorsetgirl and bloodrebel333. You guys rock.

It’s been a long day, even with Reg Cole all tucked up, neat as you please, but it’s not over yet and Annie is still buzzing. She knows she shouldn’t have the second pint and most certainly not accept the congratulatory bottle of wine from Nelson (“On the house.”) but she’s okay and Sam’s okay and the Guv’s alive, so she’ll celebrate.

 

 

She’s not sure how the three of them have ended up in the Cortina, but there they are, Sam and Gene engaging in the usual verbal sparring up front – 

 

 

“You shouldn’t drive after all you’ve drunk-“

 

 

“Shut it, Dorothy.”

 

 

\- her in the back, the streets of Manchester flying by as Gene hits his usual sub-sonic speed. She’s never been in his car before and she’s a little surprised to find it so clean. Not what she would’ve expected judging by the state of his office, but the Guv can be slippery to pin down sometimes.

 

 

A flash of green catches her eye and she leans forward, shouting, “Stop! Stop the car!”

 

 

Gene slams on the brakes, very nearly catapulting her into Sam’s lap. As she struggles to right herself, Gene glowers. “Are you _cracked_?”

 

 

She grins and opens the door. “We need to get out here.”

 

 

“What?”

 

 

“Annie,” Sam starts, but she’s already out and moving.

 

 

“Come on, then!” she says back. 

 

 

“Daft bird,” Gene mutters not for her to hear, though she does anyway.

 

 

She hugs the wine bottle to her chest, feet moving in a not-quite-straight line across the street as the two men follow. Pavement slopes gently into grass, still green in the summer heat, though it has that brittle, dried look of plants gone too long without water. Beyond the grass lies the river, water catching the last light of the low-hanging sun. It is not an isolated area by any means; the garbage and debris of human existence lie scattered close to the road and in the distance she can still hear evening traffic. But this is her most favourite spot in the entire world and what better place to be when she wants to make sure her heart is still beating?

 

 

She sits on the ground and goes to work liberating the cork from the bottle. Sam walks to one side of her, Gene to the other.

 

 

“Well,” Sam says, looking at her little oasis in the midst of the city and smiling. “This is nice.”

 

 

“So glad you went in for that extra education, Sammy-boy,” Gene says. “Given you the vocabulary of a poet, it has.”

 

 

“Oh shut up,” Sam says, but it lacks bite. He sheds his coat as he takes a seat beside her. Gene huffs a little more (“When in the land of the clangers...”) before doing the same.

 

 

“Ah!” The cork comes free in Annie's hand and she takes a good, long swallow. Not a great wine, not even a good one, but it falls sweet on her tongue all the same. She offers the bottle to Sam, who accepts.

 

 

“So you come here often?” he says, then grimaces. “God, that sounds like a bad pick-up line.”

 

 

She grins. “There are good ones?”

 

 

“Touché.” Sam hands the wine off to Gene and around it goes.

 

 

“I loved it here as a little girl,” Annie says. “Used to come out with my sister and we'd pretend it was a forest. Fairy rings and enchanted princesses, you know?” Sam looks at her with that strange, intense curiosity of his and she blushes. “Or not.”

 

 

“I didn't know you had a sister.”

 

 

“Yeah, I told you.” And she has, too. “Went to her wedding a few weeks back, remember?”

 

 

“I – you did.” He speaks quietly, eyes suddenly so far away. “I-I forgot.”

 

 

Is he trying to figure it out? Slide her back into whatever box he thinks his mind pulled her out of? One more puzzle-piece to add to his amazing self-absorption.

 

 

She isn't normally so harsh in her assessments, privately accusing him of overthinking reality when he often doesn't think about it enough. The future that keeps him forever occupied is also the reason he takes her seriously, looks and actually sees _her_ when everyone else only sees a skirt. A mass of confusing, intriguing contradictions is their Sam.

 

 

“Have you got any family?” she says.

 

 

“No. Well, my mum,” he says, wine back in his hand, dangling from his fingers. “But she's – not here.”

 

 

“Retired to some old biddy's home?” Gene says, rescuing the wine from his DI's neglect. Sam glares at him.

 

 

“No, she just... moved.” Again the hesitation, the one Annie has begun to recognize as Sam's attempt to hide the truth without actually lying, years yet to come leaving ghostly imprints on all his words. “And I'll thank you not to insult my mother.”

 

 

“Wouldn't dream of it. Raised a fine girl like you, didn't she?” Sam opens his mouth to retort, but Annie breaks in.

 

 

“So, what about you, then?” she says. “Family?”

 

 

Gene snorts and drinks. “Far as you're concerned, no.”

 

 

“We shared.”

 

 

“That's because you're both women.”

 

 

“Hey!”

 

 

“That's it,” she says and snatches the wine from him. “No more for you.”

 

 

“Might I remind you I'm your superior officer?”

 

 

“My wine.” She holds the bottle close. “My rules.”

 

 

Gene opens his mouth, re-thinks what he's going to say, then shrugs. “Fair enough.” He reaches into a pocket and pulls out a flask. This one is notable for its lack of a bullet hole.

 

 

“You're unbelievable,” Sam says as he rolls up his over-long sleeves. He rests his arms on bent knees, exposing a thin strip of too pale skin. Annie frowns and tilts his arm so she can see better in the fading light. It's an old scar, mostly surgical in nature but snakes nearly from wrist to elbow. Sam raises an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

 

 

“Oh! Sorry!” She snatches her hand away, retreating from his personal space. “I wasn't thinking.”

 

 

“'s okay.” He bends his arm to look at the scar. Gene leans around Annie to catch a glimpse and nods in what appears to be approval. “I forget it's there, honestly.”

 

 

“Do you mind if I ask-?”

 

 

He shrugs. “Car accident when I was twelve. Broke my arm and the bone pierced right through the skin.”

 

 

“Yuck.”

 

 

“Oh sure. Blood everywhere, me hollering, Mum damn near fainting, it was a mess. But I had a cast for six weeks and that made me the coolest kid at school.” Sam grins, for once revelling in something thoroughly boyish. It's a little beyond Annie's ken, but Gene grunts in male solidarity.

 

 

“Can't prove you've lived without a scar or two.” At Sam's raised eyebrow and Annie's tilt of the head, Gene lifts up his trouser leg, showing off a knot of ugly twisted skin just to the side of his shin. Annie winces.

 

 

“Looks painful.”

 

 

“Knife,” Gene says, hitting the scar with side of his fist, miming a stab. “Little bastard were carrying a bloody fishing knife. Didn't even see it 'til the damn thing was buried hilt deep in my leg.”

 

 

“Let me guess,” Sam says. “Didn't even slow you down through sheer force of manly will.”

 

 

“Got my own back,” Gene says, ignoring the sarcasm. He turns to Annie. “So what about you, then, sweetheart?”

 

 

Annie blinks. “Me?”

 

 

“You were the one who wanted to share and share alike.”

 

 

“Come on.” Sam nudges her, friendly-like. It's a comfortable, natural gesture. “If the rest of us are gonna go all _Jaws_...”

 

 

“' _Jaws_?'”

 

 

“Yeah, y'know, while they're hunting the shark? 'We're gonna need a bigger boat.'” It is, perhaps, the worst attempt at an American accent Annie has ever heard and it has both her and Gene staring at him in bewilderment. Sam blushes beet red all the way to the tip of his ears. It's surprisingly adorable.

 

 

“Um,” he says, staring at the ground. “Guess it's not out yet. Never mind.”

 

 

Annie sighs, dwells for a moment on what it means to be one of the boys, and takes a large swallow of wine. Courage burning all the way down, she un-tucks her shirt from her skirt and lifts it up.

 

 

Gene appears intrigued. “Planning on giving us a show?”

 

 

“No. Sharing.” She points to a hook-shaped scar on her stomach. “There.”

 

 

Sam reaches out a hand and almost, but doesn't quite, touch it. He traces it in the air. “Was this... appendicitis?” he guesses.

 

 

She nods. “I was ten.”

 

 

“Scarred nicely.”

 

 

“Um,” she says, because what's supposed to be her response to that? “Thank you?”

 

 

“No, I mean...” He fumbles for the words. “It's a-a clean heal.”

 

 

“Seen worse, have you?”

 

 

“Once or twice.”

 

 

“Hark at you,” Gene says. “Talking like you'd know anything about it.”

 

 

“Some of us actually like learning about things other than which horse to bet on in the Grand National,” Sam snaps.

 

 

“Well, that'd be the difference. I know something useful.”

 

 

“Gentlemen,” Annie says. “Play nice.”

 

 

“He started it,” Gene says

 

 

“I did not!”

 

 

“Oi. _Nice_ ,” Annie says. “Both of you. I've decreed it.”

 

 

Sam smiles. “Decreed?”

 

 

“My rules, remember?” Annie nods. “I said so.”

 

 

“And do we get something if we behave ourselves?” Sam says.

 

 

“DI Tyler, are you asking me to _bribe_ you?”

 

 

He's leaning closer to her now and she believes it's possible they're both quite a bit drunker than she originally thought. “Of course not. I've vowed to uphold the law.”

 

 

“So you're above such petty concerns.”

 

 

“Entirely.”

 

 

She kisses him.

 

 

It's meant to be quick, platonic, but it rapidly becomes something else. She pushes into him and his hand winds up the back of her neck. He plays with her hair as she lays a palm against his chest, feeling as his heartbeat quickens.

 

 

_This and nothing else_ she thinks but can't say what it means.

 

 

“Oi, oi, oi!”

 

 

Gene's voice cuts through the intimate moment and they break apart. Sam still has his eyes closed, looking a little flushed. Annie licks her lips, tasting the ghost of Sam left behind.

 

 

“Honestly, like randy teenagers you are.”

 

 

Annie leans back to look at him, head hanging practically upside down. “Feeling left out, Guv?”

 

 

Gene snorts. “That supposed to be an offer, Cartwright?”

 

 

And because the wine has made her a little more honest than is safe, she says, “Maybe it is.”

 

 

He closes the distance between them. It's not at all like kissing Sam, who is gentle and curious and feels like the wind. Gene tastes of cigarettes and booze, as old and solid as the earth itself. But the position is awkward, putting a strain on her neck, and she's forced to break it off when her elbow slips and she lands on her back with a small 'oof.'

 

 

Sam leans over her, almost cheek to cheek with Gene. “Annie, you alright?”

 

 

She grins at them. “Wow.”

 

 

Sam grins back. “You're drunk.”

 

 

“Yep.” She points at him. “Now, kiss and make up.”

 

 

“With Gene?” Sam glances at the Gov, who glowers right back.

 

 

“My rules.” She gestures with her hands, trying to close the gap between them by will alone. “Go on.”

 

 

Gene sighs. “Think you hit your head a little too hard, Cart-”

 

 

Sam grabs him and kisses him. It's not quick and it's not camp. It's proper, a real honest-to-god why-yes-I-am-quite-enjoying-this kiss. Time holds its breath for them, the two men pressed together, the woman watching them.

 

 

_This and nothing else._

 

 

Then Gene pushes away and Sam ends up beside Annie, shaking with laughter.

 

 

“Have you gone _completely_ round the bend?”

 

 

“Don't know about you, Gene,” Sam says as he laces his fingers behind his head, looking inordinately pleased with himself. “But I'm perfectly comfortable in my sexuality.”

 

 

“Poofter.”

 

 

“Neanderthal.”

 

 

The argument has no rancour, if it had any in the first place. Annie can't remember if she's ever seen Sam this relaxed, wine loosening him enough to forget himself for once and just be.

 

 

_I love you_ she thinks, not for the first time. She's never said the words aloud and perhaps she never will. But that way lies in the future's misty distance and today is today. They are alive and the world turns and it's enough.

 

 

“Good day today,” she says. Sam frowns at her but Gene nods.

 

 

“Good day.”

 

 

When Sam remains silent, she wonders if they've lost him again, that he's remembered and retreated inside himself. But then he smiles and it's beautiful.

 

 

“No one died,” he says. “Good day.”

 

 

His hand finds its way to the top of hers where she lets it lie. Above them, night steals across the sky and the first stars appear.

 

 

 

FIN


End file.
